The Second Time Around
by SimplyMonkey
Summary: Alice Littleton, former playwright, actress, and Queen of Narnia, finds herself trapped in the 1940s, in her seventeen-year-old body, and . . . in a marriage with the future High King? Eventual Peter/OC, but not right away 'cause that age gap could make things awkward.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello beautiful people! For those of you who read my M*A*S*H fic, don't worry, I'm still working on it. I've had the idea for this story for a while now, and I've got the first few chapters of both stories written, so I figured I would go ahead and start posting this one as well. I'm aware that many of the plotlines (i.e. former Narnian queen OC, arranged marriage, etc.) are not the most original, but hopefully the way I've combined them will prove to be both unique and interesting. For those of you who are new to my work (which is an easy feat, considering how new I am to writing fanfiction), welcome!_

_Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: Anything thing you recognize from Narnia or any other source is the property of its rightful owner. I lay no claim on the characters, settings, plotlines, etc. found in Narnia, although I am honored to have to opportunity to work with them throughout this fanfiction (emphasis on the "fan" part). All I own is my OCs and whatever original plotwork is related to them and their stories._

* * *

I first met Peter Pevensie the week before our wedding. I'm sure you can imagine how awkward this was, him being little more than a child at seventeen years old and me being a thirty-something queen from another world. Of course, this last part was a closely kept secret at the time, so the awkwardness in that respect was mostly limited to myself.

Let me elaborate. It is true that I am from a different world. No, it's not Narnia, no matter how much simpler that would be. Rather, I am from a world where Narnia, the Pevensies, and all things relating to them were considered to be fiction, nothing more than a set of interesting stories contained within the covers of a popular series of children's books. I had read them when I was younger, but it had been awhile even before I ended up in Narnia, and even longer after I finished my reign and found myself in a pile of rubble in twentieth-century London.

That was a disturbing experience. I had gone from a land of magic and beauty to one of fire and dust. For a moment, I thought that I had somehow ended up in hell, and that the voices surrounding me were those of demons waiting to attack. I am not ashamed to admit that I cried like a child when I realized that the hands pulling me from my hiding place belonged to rescue workers, not monsters.

By my judgment, I was about thirty-seven when I left Narnia, and I woke up in England at about seventeen – physically, of course. Because I appeared so young, one of the rescue workers volunteered to let me stay with him. As I wouldn't be born for almost six decades, even if I had ended up in my original world, I had few options other than acceptance. Which, unfortunately, also meant that I had a level of dependence on my guardian that proved to be difficult to readjust to. Especially when he informed me that, as he had been drafted into the war and would be reporting within the next few weeks, he had decided that I would be married off to the son of one of his old friends so that I would have someone to provide for me.

I was a self-identified feminist from the twenty-first century. Despite my shyness, I was considered an accomplished actor, musician, and writer. After being sent to Narnia, I had become the queen and sole ruler of a great nation. You can imagine how I reacted to the news that I was expected to graciously submit to an arranged marriage with someone I had never so much as made eye contact with.

"What!?" At times even I am surprised by the sheer volume and range I can achieve with my voice. "Please, tell me you're joking."

My guardian, John Roberts, sighed. "No, Alice, I'm not. You are a young lady, completely alone in the world. You need someone to take care of you. Peter is a nice boy and—"

"There is no 'and' Roberts!" I shrieked. I knew that it wasn't the most dignified way to get my point across, but after being suddenly reverted to a teenager again, the sudden influx of hormones mixed with the change in brain structure made it hard to be rational. "I don't care if he's nice or not, I don't want to marry him!"

"Alice…"

"No, no, no, and no. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Just let me use the house. I'll get a job at a factory, or wait tables somewhere – I'll even pay you rent, if you like – just please don't make me get married!"

His glare shut me up. "Alice, you are seventeen. I am your guardian, and if I tell you that you are getting married, I expect you to obey me without these ridiculous demonstrations." He paused for a moment. "Look, I'm not happy about this either. When I agreed to take you in, I never thought that I would end up having to send you away. But it wouldn't be proper for you to live on your own, and marrying Peter will give you some level of security." He smiled. "Besides, the two of you may very well end up getting along. You never know, and he is around your same age."

I had to bite my tongue to keep from continuing the argument. In my own time, it would have been perfectly acceptable for a woman to live on her own, albeit seventeen wasn't ever a common age to be legally independent. Instead of pointing this out, as I so badly wanted to, I settled for saying, "Fine. When do I get to meet him?"

"We're going over to the Pevensie's tomorrow," he replied.

At that point I had to leave the room to keep from throttling him. Tomorrow? The night before I had to meet my possibly-future-husband, and that's when he decides to inform me of my impending marriage? I went upstairs to the room that had been designated for my use and curled up on the little bed inside. The name Pevensie wouldn't stop echoing inside my head. Peter Pevensie. Hadn't I heard that name somewhere before? I knew I had, I just couldn't remember – like I said, it had been a long time since I had so much as thought of the books about Narnia. I tried to put it out of my mind as much as I could, but it proved to be impossible. I drifted off to sleep still turning the name over in my mind.

* * *

Early the next morning, around eight, we made our way through the city to the Pevensie's house. It was a cute little building, just a few blocks from Roberts' home. The only problem with it was the bomb shelter in the backyard that Roberts had mentioned. I suppose he was trying to reassure me, but it only served to remind me just how far I was from either of my homes. Anyways, we got there at about 8:15, and Roberts hardly had a chance to knock on the door before it was yanked open. Suddenly there was some sort of whirling dervish wrapping its arms around my waist, and a pair of excited blue eyes staring up into mine.

"Are you my new sister?" asked the girl who was clinging to me.

I froze for a moment. "Um…"

"We'll see." Thank you, Roberts! "May we come in?"

The girl blushed, releasing me. "Sorry." She stepped back to let us in. I gave her a smile to let her know that I wasn't upset.

The inside of the house was just as nice as the outside, if a bit old-fashioned for my taste. (I never did like fancy furniture. I was always afraid that it would break if I sat on it.) It struck me as odd for a moment, until I realized that there was no television, which for some reason I had been expecting. Instead there was a set of large bookshelves set against one wall, with an armchair strategically positioned between the shelves and a lamp. The chair was currently occupied by a girl of perhaps fifteen, who was observing me curiously from a pale face surrounded by a shockingly lovely set of dark curls. A middle-aged woman, standing in a doorway that appeared to lead into some type of kitchen area, was also watching me with a small, soft smile on her face.

"Ah, Peter, there you are!" I jumped, surprised. My reflexes were still a little bit off, after everything that had happened. I glanced around to see Roberts stepping forward and clapping a golden-haired young man on the shoulder. _Not bad,_ I decided, observing his muscle and bone structures. _Relatively athletic, nice skin, good smile . . . I suppose I could learn to tolerate him._ Back in Narnia, I used to judge my . . . companions . . . based on similar characteristics. If I was still queen, and if he was a few years older, I might consider getting to know him a lot better than I was planning to at the moment.

"Come and meet your new wife!" Roberts gestured towards me with a grand sweep of his arm.

Peter turned to look at me, blinking slightly as if just noticing my presence. I could see him measuring me up, just as I had done to him. With the eyes of everyone in the room directed at me, I wanted nothing more than to find somewhere to hide away with a good book or a pencil and paper, and spend a few hours escaping into a realm where girls weren't forced into unwilling marriages. Instead, I straightened my shoulders and back, lifted my chin, and looked Peter Pevensie straight in the eyes and said, "Hello."

Apparently deciding that I was worthy of his notice, he nodded towards me and responded with an equally detached, "Hello."

The smile of the woman in the doorway had grown slightly uncomfortable upon seeing the stiffness between us, but Roberts was apparently determined to see the best in the situation. "Well, then," he clapped his hands together, beaming at everyone and letting out a chuckle. "Peter, this is my foster daughter, Alice Littleton. Alice, this is Peter." We looked at each other uncomfortably, each of us trying to avoid meeting the other's eyes while at the same time judging their reaction to the situation. The silence in the room was thick and tense. I imagined it like a sort of strange membrane, pulsating and throbbing in time with the unspoken thoughts of the people present.

I decided to break that membrane. I was Alice the Brave, after all, and if anyone was going to take the first step, it might as well be me. I walked towards the staircase where Peter had been perched the entire time, and stretched my right hand towards him. "Nice to meet you, I suppose."

He shook the offered appendage. "Likewise."

Roberts' eyes were following the exchange closely. When he decided that we were going to get along (probably with some level of relief that I wasn't just going to insult my intended to the point where he wouldn't want anything to do with me right off the bat), his grin grew even more. "Excellent! Now, as I said, this is Peter, and the young lady in the corner over there is Susan, and of course you've already met Lucy . . ."

He paused, looking around. The woman in the kitchen door noticed this and said, "Edmund is still upstairs. He just started at a new school, and he's working on some of the work that his teachers have assigned him for the break."

"I'll get him," Peter said, rolling his eyes and running up the stairs behind him. I could hear his footsteps echoing on the floor above.

The woman in the doorway now strode across the room. "Hello Alice," she said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. She led me to a sofa and indicated that I should sit down. I complied; she seemed like a nice woman, and I was happy to do as she asked. "Would you like anything to drink?" I could hear yelling upstairs.

I nodded. "Could I have some water, please?"

"Of course! Lucy, could you please go get Alice a glass of water from the kitchen?" At her mother's request, the little redhead jumped up eagerly and darted off to the kitchen. A few moments later, the sounds of clinking glasses and running water drifted through the doorway. If I listened closely, I could hear two voices engaged in a shouting match upstairs. Mrs. Pevensie shot me a nervous smile.

"So . . ." Roberts broke the silence. "Peter's grown into quite the young man hasn't he?" I had to consciously refrain from rolling my eyes at him. The shouting match continued upstairs.

Mrs. Pevensie smiled. "Yes, he certainly has. Although," she sighed, "I do wish that he didn't have to take on so much responsibility at such a young age." I sent a startled glance in her direction. _Perhaps she is as against this wedding as I am? _She must have noticed, because she hurriedly assured me that her words weren't meant to apply to me. "I simply meant that . . . well, it's been hard on Peter – all of the children really – to have their father off in the war. We all miss him dreadfully." She trailed off.

I took a sip of my water, and nearly choked as footsteps thudded down the stairs. "Ow, Peter, get off." I glanced over at the source of the new voice, a black-haired boy being dragged into the room in a headlock.

Once Peter and the new boy had reached the center of the room, Peter released him from the headlock. "Come on, Ed, it wasn't that bad." He shook his head and folded his arms.

Mrs. Pevensie once again spoke up. "Alice, this is my younger son, Edmund. Edmund, this is your new sister Alice."

_New sister? Already? _"Nice to meet you." I smiled at him

"Hello." He grunted.

"Ed!" Peter admonished.

I blinked, not seeing what the problem was. Edmund apparently knew, though, as he sighed and responded, "Nice to meet you, too."

Roberts let out a nervous chuckle and clapped his hands again. "Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I think this is going splendidly."

* * *

"So, what did you think?" Roberts asked me as we made our way back to his house. "Peter seemed very nice." I made a noncommittal noise in the back of my throat. "Aw, Alice," he looped an arm around my shoulders. "You know this is necessary." No. "You'll be fine, I promise."

I can't believe how often I forget the difficulty of smothering both temper and tears simultaneously.

* * *

_And that's it for the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and please fell free to leave a review with any comments/critiques you might have. See you next time!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Here we go, second chapter. Thank you so much to Marianne 16 for reviewing!_

_I hope you enjoy this next installment!_

_Disclaimer: Anything thing you recognize from Narnia or any other source is the property of its rightful owner. I lay no claim on the characters, settings, plotlines, etc. found in Narnia, although I am honored to have to opportunity to work with them throughout this fanfiction (emphasis on the "fan" part). All I own is my OCs and whatever original plotwork is related to them and their stories._

* * *

Naturally, the next day being Sunday and me being stuck in early twentieth-century England, Roberts dragged me off to church approximately two hours before I felt comfortable maintaining any level of consciousness. The church was about three blocks away from Roberts' house, in the opposite direction we had taken on the way to the Pevensies'. It was a nice little building, good architecture and acoustics, but after a period of strong atheism in my teens and twenty years spent in Narnia, I felt uncomfortable and out of place in a Christian church.

This particular week, the excursion was made even more awkward when Roberts directed me to sit beside Peter in the third row from the front, as opposed to my customary seat four rows from the back.

He offered me a polite smile as I tried to sit down, fussing with the awful skirt and jacket ensemble dictated by the fashion of the day. I wound up jamming him with my elbow a couple of times as I was trying to settle in, muttering a steady chorus of "Sorry."

"It's fine," he said. "Here, let me help you with that." He looped an arm through the strap of my purse and slid my jacket off of my shoulders (a much easier task once it had become untangled from the aforementioned purse).

"Thanks," I murmured, tucking my skirt under me and sitting down.

Peter handed me back my purse and jacket, and sat back down in his place to my right. "Did you sleep well?" He asked suddenly.

I stared at him for a moment, startled. "Yes," I answered. "Did you?"

He nodded. We let the conversation drift off into silence, and this time I wasn't going to do anything to change that. I checked my watch as discreetly as I could: there were still a few minutes before the service started. I sighed quietly, and crossed one leg over the other, jiggling my foot. I looked around for something to do.

Roberts, in the seat to my left, shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. I looked over at him, tilting my head and wrinkling my eyebrows together curiously. His eyes flickered to my crossed legs and then back to my face, while he shifted again, crossing his ankles in an exaggerated motion. I rolled my eyes, but uncrossed my legs and let them rest against each other at the ankles. Roberts smiled at me in thanks, but I made a point of turning my head away from him.

That, unfortunately, meant that I turned my head back to face Peter again. His eyes were slightly wide, and I realized that he had been watching the entire exchange. I wondered what his reaction to it was, but I didn't know him well enough to be able to read it off of his expression. Our eyes locked together, and I resisted the urge to blink or turn away. I was a queen, dammit, I was not going to be intimidated by someone only a few years beyond childhood! He held my gaze impressively well for a few moments, until we were both startled out of our staring contest by the sound of the organ music marking the start of the service.

* * *

I won't tell you how that went. I don't imagine that you'd want a play-by-play anyways. Suffice it to say, I did not enjoy it. Before I arrived in Narnia, I had been atheist for years; even after my rule, I was very reluctant in regards to religion. Aslan had earned my trust and my loyalty, but I still found organized religion quite stifling. I did my best to make it through the ceremony without any fuss, though, and no one was the wiser.

After the service was over, and once a set of fairly awkward goodbyes with the Pevensies was finished, Roberts and I caught a cab over to the local hospital. It had become a Sunday tradition for us to spend the day with Roberts' wife, Ellie. She had been injured in an air raid only a few days after my arrival in the 40s, and hadn't been home since then.

Ellie's eyes always lit up when we walked into the room. As always, her eyes lingered on her husband before drifting over to me. This particular Sunday, she had the beginnings of a crocheted blanket piled up in her lap. She bundled up the multi-colored fabric and set in on the table by her bed as she smiled to us in greeting. "John! How are you today, dear?"

"I'm excellent, Ellie," he replied, striding over to her and placing a kiss on her hair. "How are you feeling?"

"There was some tingling earlier. Not a lot, but still . . ." She bit her lip. Even after two months of treatments and surgeries, the wounds in her legs and spinal cord had left her paralyzed from the waist down.

Roberts' smile was strained. "Yes, yes, that's good, that's very good . . ." He clapped his hands together. "Well, I'll just – I'll just go and talk to the doctor now." He wandered off towards the nurses' station out in the hallway.

My eyes followed Roberts for a few moments before finding their way back to the blankets over Ellie's legs. After a few seconds of introverting, I managed to tug them away and back up to Ellie's face. Her eyes were fixed on me with their usual unnerving intensity. I found myself thinking yet again that it was a shame that she and Roberts couldn't have children; her gentleness combined with her sharp violet stare would have made her an excellent mother. Fortunately or unfortunately, she seemed to find me a convenient outlet for her maternal tendencies. "Alice," she began in a quiet voice, "tell me about your marriage with Peter."

"Well, we're not married yet, ma'am," I replied. "He seems nice enough, I suppose."

She sighed and shifted around in the bed. "Alice, John is a darling, but even after five years of marriage he still has no understanding of women. Now, I can see it plain as day on your face that you're not happy about this. I certainly hope you're not planning to do anything rash?"

I gestured to a chair beside the bed. "May I?" She nodded, and I pulled the chair closer and sat down in it, crossing my ankles like the proper forties lady I never was. Roberts would be so proud. "I don't understand why I have to marry him Ellie. I've only just met him, and I certainly don't need anyone to take care of me, let alone a seventeen-year-old who's still more of a boy than a man!"

She blinked at me calmly. "Darling, have you considered your position here at all?" I let my face fall into an expression of confusion. She sighed again. "Alice, I know you. You're a good girl. But that doesn't change the fact that you have no papers, no history, no way to prove that you are who you say you are. Now, so far we've been able to keep people from looking too closely at your situation with that story about your parents being killed in the raid. But, as John has told me, and as I'm certain you know, there were no other bodies found in the building. That sort of thing has to come out sometime, and you could be in a great deal of trouble when that happens."

She paused, then continued more slowly. "This arrangement with the Pevensies will provide you with at least some level of protection from that possibility. You will have an official identity, with documents to go with it. You will also have automatic citizenship. Now wait, hold on just a moment." She put a hand up to silence my protests. "You certainly fake it very well, dear, but if one listens carefully enough, it's possible to hear a few slip-ups in your accent. American, if I'm not mistaken." A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "But the thing is, after you're married to Peter, none of that will matter. You'll be able to say that you're Alice Pevensie, citizen of England, and be able to back it up with no one any the wiser." She reached out and clasped one of my hands, pulling it closer so she could grasp it with both hands. "How does that sound to you?"

"Very practical, ma'am," I murmured, breaking her gaze again in favor of looking down at our intertwined hands. "I'm just a bit nervous about it, is all." And really, I was nervous about it. I was afraid that by marrying Peter, I would essentially be signing away any hope of independence I may have had. I was still trying to adjust to my more limited autonomy after Narnia, I didn't want to give up any more than I had to.

"Ah, so that's it," she laughed. "That's a perfectly normal reaction, dear. Even more so in your situation." She pursed her lips. "It's okay to feel nervous. But as you said, this is a very practical solution to a very difficult situation. You can deal with what happens afterwards however you see fit, but you must make sure to protect yourself first."

I nodded. "I know ma'am."

"And no more of this 'ma'am' business," she said firmly. "Everyone calls me Ellie, I expect you to do the same." I felt my lips twitch upwards, and she smiled in response. "There we go! You have such a lovely smile, Alice, it's a shame when it's not around."

"Mrs. Roberts?" A voice behind me asked. I turned and noticed that Roberts had returned with the doctor. "How are you feeling today?"

"Quite well," she replied. "And how are you?"

"Oh, I'm well," he answered. "Your husband mentioned that you were experiencing some tingling today. Would you mind showing me where?"

"There's just a little bit, down around my ankles . . ."

I let my mind wander as the doctor performed his examination. It was always the same bad news, anyways – some of the debris from the blast had hit her spinal cord, they were doing all they could, but it was unlikely that she would every walk again, etc.

It made sense what Ellie had said about marrying Peter. After I was found, Roberts and the other rescuers reported that my parents had also been in the building I was found in, but that I had been the only survivor. Naturally, this was not at all true; in reality, it seemed as if I had been the only one in the building at the time it was hit. It was a hollow lie, and one that would hardly hold up under scrutiny.

But marrying someone I didn't know was still an unsettling idea. It also didn't seem very fair to Peter, to end up with a wife who was only using him as a cover for her lack of official identity. Not to mention the fact that he was about twenty years younger than me, whether he knew it or not, and all the awkwardness that tagged along with that. I wasn't sure that I could morally justify marrying him, no matter how much easier it would make things for me, legally, that is.

* * *

We went back to the Pevensies' that night, and every night for the rest of the week. I didn't interact with Peter very much – we tended to try to avoid each other as much as possible. I would sometimes feel his eyes on me as I was playing with Lucy, or talking with Susan, or helping Edmund with some of his schoolwork, but he was always looking somewhere else when I glanced over at him. I got to know his family a lot better though, especially his siblings. Lucy was always sweet and fun, the kind of girl who could light up a room just by being in it. Edmund had a tendency to be sulky, but was obviously very intelligent and not bad-hearted. Susan could do with a little lightening up, but she was also incredibly intelligent and welcoming towards me; besides, I was always a fairly serious person as well.

Peter, though, was still a mystery. I could tell that he cared for his siblings enormously. He did all he could to take care of them, and seemed to enjoy spending time with them immensely. I sometimes felt that he could be a bit too harsh with Edmund, as he was with the headlock on that first day. It was concerning, at times, but it seemed to me to be more about them both being young, and brothers, and trying to deal with the stress of not having their father around in different and often not-so-compatible ways. I decided, if I did end up marrying Peter, that I would try to help work out that conflict as best as I could.

Peter's name was still bouncing around in my head the entire time. All of the siblings' names were, actually. I couldn't remember where I had heard them before, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I should recognize them, that I should know them from somewhere, as if I had met them many years before and never quite forgotten it.

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Bit of a short chapter this time darlings. It didn't want to be written, it seems, but I managed to wrangle it into something resembling a shape, and it seemed to have reached a good ending point (otherwise it was looking to turn into something much longer than I would like to punish in one go). Anyways, enough of my rambling. Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: Anything thing you recognize from Narnia or any other source is the property of its rightful owner. I lay no claim on the characters, settings, plotlines, etc. found in Narnia, although I am honored to have to opportunity to work with them throughout this fanfiction (emphasis on the "fan" part). All I own is my OCs and whatever original plotwork is related to them and their stories._

Before anyone knew it, the night before the wedding had arrived. Peter took another glance around the room, trying not to let his gaze linger on his bride-to-be for too long. Alice wasn't a bad looking girl, but she was certainly very perceptive. Every time he tried to get a look at her for more than a couple of seconds, she seemed to sense his eyes on her and look back at him. He still remembered the staring contest in the church, the way their eyes had locked on each other for the few moments before they had been startled apart by the sound of the music. He had been slightly startled by her eyes, the way their deep blue had drawn him in, the curious sensation in his belly, almost as if he was falling into some abyss, at the bottom of which was an ocean the same color as her irises.

Peter knew that he was probably not the most gracious host in the way he had been acting towards her. Alice and her foster father, an old friend of Peter's own father, had come over every night since Peter and Alice had first been introduced. Peter could count on his fingers the number of times he and Alice had spoken to each other, and even then they barely got more than a few sentences through a conversation before they were either interrupted or simply ran out of things to say. There was still a sense of tension between them, as if neither knew how they were supposed to go about interacting with each other. Peter supposed that he could always approach her and try to think of something to talk about; that may have been the best solution, as he had noticed how shy the girl seemed to be, even in her interactions with his siblings. But he, too, was unsure how to approach their relationship. He supposed that it might become easier once they were married and had a solidly defined relationship as husband and wife, rather than the rather confusing combination of strangers and sweethearts that they were now.

She was a pretty enough girl, he supposed. Her eyes were still a mesmerizing blue, drawing him in to the point where he almost didn't notice the smattering of freckles on her cheeks or the front tooth that was slightly crooked. He had been surprised the first time he had caught her with her hair down, not expecting such a tiny girl to have such a wild mess of tawny curls. And she was tiny, almost too tiny. Times were tough, certainly, but she possessed an almost exaggerated sort of skinniness: her cheekbones were a bit sharper than usual, her clothes seemed to hang awkwardly from her frame, the bones of her wrists and ankles seemed at the same time prominent and delicate. He had seen her eating, and she seemed like she had a decent enough appetite, but he still couldn't help wondering if there was something wrong with her. The scars on her wrists didn't ease his fears, either. True, she had been pulled from the wreckage of a bombed building, but the scars seemed older than that, as if they had happened before.

Whenever they caught a moment alone, he would feel the questions hanging in the air between them, hovering in the back of his throat and choking him with a fear of voicing them, of what her answers would be. Would she try to laugh them off, saying they were nothing important and not to worry? Or would she break down, crying and telling him all about a dark and painful past? He wasn't sure which would be worse. So he let the questions sit there, and tried to figure out the answers for himself by sitting back and watching her interactions with the rest of his family.

Speaking of whom, he was somewhat worried about their reactions to the situation. While they all insisted that they were fine with it, all of his sibling had gone through so many changes already, and he wasn't sure how well they would truly be able to cope with yet another one. Alice seemed to get along with all of them rather well, but again, Peter couldn't seem to keep himself from worrying.

He was worried for himself, too. He was only seventeen years old, and he was getting married to a girl he had never met before, whom he knew next to nothing about, as a favor to an old friend of his father's, while said father was away fighting a war and he was expected to take care of his mother and siblings as well. It was expected that he would be able to handle the burden, certainly better than the fragile, lonely girl he was marrying, but sometimes he was hit by a feeling of doubt and anxiety over whether he actually could.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed! Have a lovely day darlings!_

_Also, to the guest who left me a review asking if I would be going into Alice's past in Narnia/before Narnia, yes I definitely will. I find her to be a fascinating character, and I don't believe I could do justice to her story if I didn't explore her past and what has shaped her into who she is. I'll warn you that it will be a gradual process, however, and probably not something I'll get into in much depth before she and the Pevensies make their way into Narnia._


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello again, dear readers! I know it's been quite a while. I have no excuse other than life. But I hope that this chapter was worth the wait._

_Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: Anything thing you recognize from Narnia or any other source is the property of its rightful owner. I lay no claim on the characters, settings, plotlines, etc. found in Narnia, although I am honored to have to opportunity to work with them throughout this fanfiction (emphasis on the "fan" part). All I own is my OCs and whatever original plotwork is related to them and their stories._

I supposed it was a good sign that the wedding day dawned bright and early. There was quite a bit of rain in England, but that particular day opened with singing birds and sunshine. For a brief moment, I closed my eyes and pretended that it was the day of my coronation, or my first festival or diplomatic dinner, and that my nerves were due to my home and my people instead of my impending marriage to a boy I barely knew.

A knock on my door jolted me out of my fantasy. "Alice? Can I come in?" I heard Roberts ask.

"Yeah," I replied. My voice sounded a bit teary, so I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yes, come in."

Roberts stuck his head in the door. "How are you feeling?"

"Um . . ." How was I feeling? Scared, nervous, indignant. "Fine, I guess."

"Oh. Okay. That's . . . good. Good." He laughed and clapped his hands together. It struck me that he might be even more nervous than I was. "Well, we've got . . . I'd say about twenty minutes before you need to meet up with Mrs. Pevensie and her girls at the church."

I nodded. "Okay." There was an awkward moment of us looking around uncomfortably, refusing to make eye contact. "Um, Roberts . . .?"  
"Yes?" He answered.

"Um . . . I kind of need to get dressed."

"Oh, right," he replied. "I'll just . . . let you do that." He moved to leave the room, but paused. "Oh, by the way, Mrs. Pevensie told me last night that she'll have your dress ready for you at the church."

He finally left the room after dropping that lovely bombshell. _My dress?_ I supposed it made sense, wedding dresses were something of a tradition. I hoped against hope that it wouldn't be white; I certainly was no virgin, and I had always thought I looked terrible in plain white.

I forced myself out of bed, ignoring the familiar fatigue that had been building up ever since I had returned from Narnia. I crept as silently as I could over to the wardrobe (flashes crossed my eyes, images of an ornate wardrobe in an old house, a faun talking to a little girl, a forest in winter, a battle on a sun-soaked field) and selected a generic outfit. I left my hair down and didn't bother to put on any makeup (I was assuming that Mrs. Pevensie would have something in mind for me, and if not, oh well). I wandered to the bathroom and scrubbed my face and teeth, but that was as far as my preparation for the day went.

I made my way downstairs once I was finished. Roberts was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. He blinked at me. "Is that what you're wearing?" He asked bemusedly.

I raised an eyebrow. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"No, no. No," he answered hurriedly. "I just . . . I thought you might want to dress up a little today, is all." He rubbed the backed of his neck

I understood. He felt guilty about forcing me into my marriage with Peter (as well he should). He was doing it because he honestly believe that it was the best way to be sure I was taken care of, though, and he hoped that I would be happy with the way things worked out. My apparent – and actual – lack of enthusiasm made that seem less and less like a possibility at every passing moment. I wasn't foolish enough to believe that he would change his mind, of course, but it would have taken more energy than I possessed at the time to muster up a convincing amount of excitement.

At the same time, I was polite enough to realize that I should try to make things easier for the poor man. "Mrs. Pevensie has a dress for me at the church, remember?" I settled for saying.

"Oh," he replied. "Well, okay then." He clapped his hands together, trying to work up his own enthusiasm. "Let's go get married!"  
_I'm the one getting married here, not you. Don't make this about _us _anything!_ I thought. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to fight back my grimace.

* * *

Mrs. Pevensie did indeed have a dress waiting for me when I got to the church. It wasn't anything fancy, but it was pretty enough and it was a sweet gesture. The more time I spent around the woman, the fonder of her I grew. I spent most of the time it took to get me ready reveling in the fact that my dress was white; surely something red would have been better suited to a libido-driven whore like myself.

I also felt my old nerves bubbling up to the surface. I had never been fond of public appearances, particularly in situations where I felt uncomfortable already. I made my breathing as deep as I could to combat the lightheadedness that usually accompanied such episodes, but there was little I could do about the nausea hitting me in waves so intense it sometimes felt as if I was choking.

Wonderful people as the Pevensies were, neither Susan nor Lucy nor Helen noticed my discomfort. Lucy enjoyed pulling my hair back into a simple braid (a feat which, she proudly announced, she had just recently learned), while Susan worked on applying my makeup (also simple, as it was not an elaborate ceremony, and also cosmetics were somewhat scarce at the time, due to the war). It didn't take too long for them to finish, but I did need a moment after they were done to catch my breath. The sight of myself all dressed up brought back memories of my time in Narnia, and I felt my throat close up as I recalled all the times I had sat in front of my lovely vanity while Shana and Gemma helped me get ready for the day.

I imagine Mrs. Pevensie thought that I was choking up because of how much I was looking forward to the wedding, or perhaps because of how much I was dreading it. Either way, she gave me a quick, reassuring sort of shoulder squeeze before herding me out of the back room we had been using as a dressing room and into the waiting area before the aisle.

Roberts gave me a nervous smile before offering me his arm. "Are you ready?" He asked.

I swallowed back more nausea. It wasn't proper for a queen to get married with vomit down the front of her wedding dress. And even if I wasn't treated like a queen anymore, I was damn well going to behave as if I still had my crown on my head.

I nodded at Roberts as I heard the music start in the church. Pachelbel's Canon. A somewhat stereotypical piece, but nice nonetheless.

The walk down the aisle seemed to take forever. I wasn't sure where to look. I imagine if it had been under normal circumstances, my eyes would have been glued to my future husband. As it was, though, I didn't know where to look. I didn't want Peter to see me staring at him. I also didn't want to stare at the priest, or at any of my soon-to-be relatives. Roberts wasn't in my line of vision, and keeping my eyes fixed on the floor was simply out of the question.

I settled for letting my eyes scan the entire church. It was a simple place, not nearly as grand as the main hall at the Cair, but a pleasant enough place in its own right. I made a quick prayer to Aslan that things would work out for the best. _I trust you. Please don't let me down._

I made my prayer just as Roberts and I reached the end of the aisle. As he handed me off to Peter, I felt a sudden flash of warmth rush through me. My younger self would have certainly brushed it off as a consequence of my having stepped into a pool of sunlight. And that probably did have something to do with it. But my older self, well . . .

For a moment it was as if I was back in Narnia, on the day of my coronation. And as I took my vows to protect and uphold the laws of my new land, I felt a similar sensation of warmth and peace wash through me. It was the same sensation that I had felt as I stood outside my home for the last time, facing down the woman who was to be my successor. When I was younger the feeling had confused me; as I grew older, I came to realize that it was Aslan's way of giving me the courage to do what I must.

The ceremony was brief. Peter held my hand the entire time; I couldn't tell whose palm was sweatier. At least it kept me from shaking too much. My voice as I repeated my wedding vows was calm and steady. I could detect some nerves in my new husband's, but he held up rather well under the strain.

The only bit of trouble was at the end, when he kissed me. It was almost sickening to have a boy only a few years out of childhood pressing his lips to mine. Although he had clearly had some previous experience – likely with Trisha or Macy or Betty or whoever at his prissy private prep school (not that I could talk – I hadn't attended public school since eighth grade) – the kiss was still clumsy enough that it was impossible for me to forget the circumstances.

After the ceremony was over, all the Pevensies gathered around me. There was a great deal of hugging and welcome-to-the-family-ing. Even Edmund deigned to give me a small smile when prompted. Roberts didn't say much of anything. All throughout the fuss I could see him standing off to the side, looking sad and worried.

* * *

Due to the difficulty of travelling during World War freaking Two (seriously, how and why did I end up in that of all time periods), Peter and I were not able to have an actual honeymoon. Instead, our time after the wedding was spent at the Pevensie house. There was a nice quiet family dinner with Peter's family and Roberts, and then a great deal of time spent sitting in the living room, talking and listening to the radio. Peter and Edmund played a game of chess, which Edmund unsurprisingly won – the kid had a real talent for strategy. Lucy drew several pictures while Susan read and I wrote in my journal.

After a while, Roberts left. He gave me a quick goodbye, thanked Mrs. Pevensie for her hospitality, and made his way back home – well, to his house. It wasn't _my_ home anymore.

Once Roberts was gone, Mrs. Pevensie shot me a smile. "Peter," she said, "why don't you show Alice up to your room?"

I clenched my jaw to keep my mouth from falling open. _Shit._ I had nearly forgotten about _that_ particular wedding tradition. My eyes made their way to Peter's. He looked about as nervous as I felt.

I decided then and there that there was no way in hell I was going to be the one to deflower someone nearly twenty years younger than myself.

Peter cleared his throat. "Yes, mum," he replied. He laced his fingers through mine. "This way, Alice."

Ignoring the chorus of "Good night" behind us, I let him lead me up the stairs and into the second room on the right. It was a pleasant enough room, I decided. A bit small compared to what I had been used to in Narnia, but as comfortable and homey as the rest of the house. Full-sized bed, at least. We wouldn't be cramped together like on a twin mattress such as the one I had had back at Roberts' house.

Peter cleared his throat awkwardly. I could see him shifting around next to me, but I refused to look at him. He reached his free hand around to grab mine, and used it as leverage to pull me around to face him. The gentleness of his actions brought a lump to my throat. "Alice-" he began, also refusing to meet my eyes.

"Don't," I interrupted him. "Please Peter, don't." He raised his head to look at me. I could have cried at the expression I saw there. He looked so sad, so lonely and lost and scared. It broke my heart to see.

"Alice," he whispered. "It'll be okay." I could practically see him shoving his worries into the back of his mind, trying to appear strong and in control. "It'll be okay," he said again, reaching his hand up to caress my face.

I jerked back, startled. _This is so wrong,_ I thought. _He's just a boy!_

"Alice, it's okay." He pulled me closer. I kept my face turned away from him. "I'll be gentle."

How readily I believed that. I knew from that way he was acting that he wouldn't hurt me. But I wasn't worried about myself. "Peter, no." I pressed my hands against his chest, pushing him away.

"Alice-"

"No, Peter."

"We'll have to do this eventually, you know."

He had a point there. I knew it as well as he did. Our relationship was never meant to be platonic, and he deserved better than to be kept in a celibate marriage. But I also couldn't take advantage of someone so much younger than myself. "Not tonight, though," I whispered.

He eyed me for a moment, measuring my resolve. _Not too impressed with that little routine, Peter. We'll have to work on that._ Finally, though, he sighed. "No, not tonight." He placed a kiss on my hair before letting me go.

My relief was probably very visible as we both got ready for bed. I sometimes have a difficult time hiding my smiles after the resolution of a tense or uncomfortable situation, and this instance was no exception. I could still feel Peter's eyes on me, but as he made no comment, I didn't feel it was necessary to, either.

After we were both in bed, though, and Peter had turned out the light, I couldn't stop myself from chewing over the situation again. _Dear Aslan, what have I done? What have I gotten myself into? How can I possibly manage to make this work out without hurting the both of us beyond repair?_ And, filled with feelings of confusion and regret, none of them stronger than the almost irresistible urge to run away right that moment, I eventually drifted off to sleep in the arms of my young new husband.

* * *

_That night I dreamed that I was back in the throne room at Cair Paravel. The marble walls were hung with streamers and the columns were decorated with flowers. The entire chamber could be described as nothing if not positively sunsoaked. The light was so bright as to be nearly painful and I could have sworn that I felt real heat on my skin._

_ The room was filled with people, Narnians of all kinds. There were fauns and centaurs and dwarves and dryads, and countless other species, all gathered to celebrate some grand occasion._

_ But the presence that mattered most was that of the great tawny cat standing next to me. I felt myself smile as I looked at Him, joyful in the fact that I could stand by His side at such a glorious event. He sensed my gaze and looked up at me. As always, the wisdom and power in those golden eyes frightened me; but the genuine and endless love they also contained belied my fear, and made it inconsequential. "They could not have done this without you, dear one," He told me._

_ "I am not so sure, my Lord," I murmured, returning my eyes to the four figures being crowned. The Pevensies, I noted. A familiar-looking faun was placing a delicate circlet of silver leaves on the head of sweet little Lucy. "They are each exceptional in their own rights. Together I believe they are strong enough to handle just about anything."_

_ He chuckled. His voice reminded me of the music I listened to as a little girl, brief snatches of songs caught half-imagined in the sounds of the wind on a lonely day. "You must not underestimate your importance, Alice. You were vital in bringing them safely here."_

_ "Not all of them," I argued. "Not always."_

_ He sighed. "You must not blame yourself for pain that you did not cause, nor for the actions of others in response to that pain," He told me gently. "And that pain is not all for nothing. For Edmund, it will lead to him becoming a nobler and wiser king, and a better person from here onwards. His siblings learned a great deal as well: Lucy to have faith in herself; Susan to have faith in that which cannot be reasoned, but must instead be felt – a lesson to which I am sure that you, dear one, can relate." I smiled, as did He._

_ "And . . . and Peter?" I asked, my voice small._

_ "Peter learned how to love and care for his family, and to trust in his ability to do so rather than rely on the roles that he believes others think he should play," He replied. "Something very much due to your influence, I believe."_

_ I smiled, feeling tears building up in my eyes. I had truly done well, in the end. I reached up and brushed away the first that fell. It would not be seemly for me to be crying at the coronation of the Four, even if my face was well enough hidden that no one should be able to see my tears. "Is this it, then?" I asked. "Have I done everything now?"_

_ He hummed thoughtfully in His throat. "No, dear one. There is still much more left for you to do." _

_ "What is it?" I asked. "I am willing."_

_ He laughed softly. "I know you are." His tone became serious. "You must continue to protect the Four. You are their Guardian, as you were always meant to be. For now, you must stay in the shadows. They must not know of your presence; it would be best for you all if they did not know what became of you after the battle."_

_ "Then I am to become a rumor?"_

_ "Yes, for the moment. The time will come when you may again walk by their side as an equal, and upon the arrival of such a time Narnia will again be at peace, peace such as has never been known before." I felt a smile grow on my face. _Peace for Narnia, and for my people. What a beautiful thought.

_ A beautiful thought indeed. Almost as soon as it crossed my mind, the setting around me changed. The throne room, which had been packed with people and drenched in sunlight, was now deserted. The light that filtered in was harsh and cold. Even my Companion seemed to have dimmed in comparison to my last memory. "Aslan?" I said, speaking his name for the first time. "I've been dreaming, haven't I?"  
"I'm sorry, dear one," he replied. "You have. All that you have seen is yet to come."_

_ I bit my lower lip, suddenly dreading the task that lay before me. "How much will I remember?"_

_ He sighed. "That is for you, and you alone, to know. But if you remember anything, you must remember this: that your marriage with Peter, as ill-fitting to you both as it is now, must be maintained. Together, you and the Pevensies will reclaim Narnia from the Witch, and rescue your land from her eternal winter. Peter will rule over Narnia as the High King, with his brother and sisters by his side. But they will need a guide, and a protector, someone who knows their land and their positions in it. It is this task I ask of you, that you be wisewoman, counselor, guardian, and guide; that you be a source of courage, loyalty, and love, for them and for all Narnians, but especially for Peter."_

_ "But Aslan, I can't!" I cried. "He's so young! How can I, in good conscience, remain married to him?"_

_ "For now, you are under no obligation to love him," He replied. "You need only stay with him, and see that he and his siblings become the kings and queens they are meant to be. The rest will come in time."_

_ I bit my lip again. Then I nodded, accepting. "Thank you," I whispered._

_ "You are welcome, dear one."_

* * *

One of the troubles of sharing a bed with another person is that, when you wake up from a prophetic dream in which a Narnian deity tells you that your new family is destined to become the prophesied rulers of the land you had died for only a few months before, there is someone else to get sick on, too, in the aftermath. I dread to think what Peter thought of me when he woke up on our wedding night covered with my vomit.


End file.
